


a kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but ripstop is a boy's best friend

by melodiousmadrigals



Series: wondertrev week 2020 [5]
Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Canon Compliant Until Proven Otherwise, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fanny Packs, Steve Trevor Lives, WW84-era fic, no spoilers beyond the trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodiousmadrigals/pseuds/melodiousmadrigals
Summary: Wondertrev Loveweek Day 5: Favorite trailer moment— Steve's impeccable fashion sense AKA the fanny pack.Or: My (probably au) Take On How Steve Got—And Lost—His Fanny Pack. A sort of 3+1, if you squint.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Series: wondertrev week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830868
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	a kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but ripstop is a boy's best friend

**Author's Note:**

> Other chatty tags include: "I know Steve's gonna die again but I Refuse to accept it, fight me patty jenkins, in this house we ignore any and all leaks that may or may not be true, (AKA no spoilers beyond the trailer itself so don't worry)" 
> 
> I wish I could say I was high when I wrote this, but no, it's just me. Is this just a little bit crack!fic? Maybe. Did I have a blast writing it? Yes. Do I love it? Also yes! In the second half of the dumpster fire that is 2020, we unabashedly love our creations AND ourselves, even as we strive to work on both ✌️💋 Hope you enjoy!

**_i._ **

To say Steve showing up out of nowhere at the gala is a surprise would be the understatement of the year. Of the _century._

But he's back and she gets more time with him, and really, that's all that matters. 

(There are a few minor details to take care of, like the fact that he was in an ambiguous afterlife-type situation and then blinked awake on a bench in D.C., corporeal and with nowhere to go and nothing to his name. She takes him back to her apartment, obviously, but that's only half the solution.) 

"I suppose you will need clean clothes, and nothing of mine will fit," she says the next morning, still luxuriating in his presence. 

"Diana, are you telling me you're taking me shopping?" The humor in his voice is evident; he clearly sees the irony in the situation just as well as she does. 

"You will look excellent in modern clothing," she predicts, and Steve preens a little. 

They set off soon after; there's a mystery to be solved, after all, and Diana's already got trouble boiling with whatever's going on with Barbara. There's no time to waste. 

"Modern clothes are definitely weird," Steve remarks as they're browsing through racks, looking for something that would be appropriate. 

"Try petticoats and corsets," Diana jokes. 

Steve makes a face. "You got me there."

He chooses a few things, then Diana chooses some more and sends him off to try them on. She watches in amusement as Steve comes out in outfit after outfit, sporting some truly trippy clothes. 

"I don't know, it doesn't scream _me,_ " Steve jokes about one particularly far-out number, a chunky red and black muscle shirt.

"Is it the stripes or the cut?" asks Diana innocently. 

_"Yes,"_ he says, and disappears back into the dressing room. 

"Is he your boyfriend?" a passing shop attendant asks, voice low, once the curtain has closed. (Her perm is as sky-high as her shoulder pads, and her eye shadow is a glaring shade of blue—the epitome of modern chic.) 

"I—yes, he is." Diana's not used to getting to talk about Steve this way, but finds that she likes it. A lot. 

"Right on, girl. I mean, _what a bod—_ " She makes a motion like she's fanning herself. "—and in that outfit? Totally tubular." 

"Yes, I suppose he is," says Diana, pressing her lips together to hide her amused smile. 

The attendant winks and carries on, and a moment later, Steve comes out again, slightly red-faced and in a velour tracksuit. 

"Was any of that English?" 

"All of it, somehow." 

"Dilly, dilly."

"It is my opinion that you are, indeed, totally tubular."

"I'm just gonna take that as a compliment," says Steve, turning to examine himself in the mirror, and Diana turns her attention to the outfit, too. "So what do you think?" 

To be honest, Diana had forgotten how attractive Steve was, and before their outing had failed to consider how much modern clothing would work for him, even leisure wear. Even in a velour tracksuit, Steve looks _good._ And unfortunately, she needs to not be so focused on him when there are bigger things at play. 

"Here, put this on," Diana says, pulling a fanny pack at random from a nearby display and handing it to Steve, who looks at it oddly. 

"It…?"

"Goes around the waist," Diana instructs. "For convenient storage." 

It's also the least attractive piece of apparel that has ever existed, Diana thinks, at least in modern history. It'll be a nice little reality check every time she glances at him. 

Steve shrugs and clips it on amiably, and then turns to examine himself again in the mirror, angling side to side to test how he likes the clothes, and _oh,_ she's made a _mistake,_ because the fanny pack has done nothing to make him less distracting.

How is this look working for him even _more_ than before? It's a _fanny pack,_ for gods' sakes. But he looks confident and pleased, and the whole thing is comfortable and functional, and she has to turn away for a moment, because they're in the middle of something _serious_ and she should definitely not be thinking about how attractive Steve is. 

"All set, then?" asks Steve, and she shakes herself and avoids eye contact when she voices an affirmative. 

As Diana is paying at the checkout counter, Steve looks aimlessly through the little counter display, and is delighted to find out that ChapStick still exists. She indicates to the clerk to add a tube to the total, as he asks, "Diana, what does SPF 15 mean?"

"Sun protection factor; it is a unit of measurement to indicate how good the product is at blocking ultraviolet rays from the sun. They cause cancer." 

"Huh." As they exit, he applies a layer and then drops the tube into the fanny pack, the first item of many to secure a place there. "It really does smell like strawberry."

"Welcome to the future," Diana says, and Steve laughs. 

* * *

_**ii.** _

It quickly becomes clear that a suspicious number of things have a man named Maxwell Lord at their epicenter. 

Steve, who has never met a problem he couldn't get himself wrapped up in, joins in on the investigation. 

They've already done a bit of digging, and on the way to their next stop, Diana takes a shortcut through the park, and notices Steve looking skeptically at the concrete and murals. 

"It's all art," Diana says, thinking about the best way to describe how it's a natural extension of the artistic movements that have happened since 1918.

She turns a little to see Steve paused—over a trash can, no less, gamely examining it like he's trying to access the intended meaning _,_ _the emotion,_ behind it. 

"That's just a trash can," she says, suppressing a laugh. 

"That's just a trash can! Yeah, yeah, yeah," he exclaims, just a little too vigorously to be natural, and she can't help the laugh that bubbles up, now, especially because of the sheepish expression that's taken up residence on his face as he realizes he's not fooled her in the slightest. 

She leans forward and kisses him, right there in plain view in the park, but she's smiling so hard that it's not much of a kiss. 

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" 

"No, not even a little. I'm writing a letter to Sameer about it tomorrow; it will make an excellent hundred-and-second birthday present." 

That, at least, makes Steve laugh. "Sammy will be absolutely insufferable about it." He doesn't appear particularly bothered about it, though, and moves to keep going.

In a stroke of inspiration, Diana catches the strap of his fanny pack and tugs on it gently, pulling him back towards her. She pauses just long enough that he can pull away if he's uncomfortable with their semi-public display of affection, but then his gaze falls on her lips and he leans in a little, so she hauls him in the rest of the way for another kiss. (Honestly, maybe there's more to appreciate about the blasted thing than she thought.)

  
  


* * *

**_iii._ **

"What the—"

In the midst of their poking around, they find themselves confronted. It's a woman, except not quite. She looks like an experiment gone wrong; half-woman, half-cat, with patterned spots across her face including long tear marks around her eyes and slitted pupils. 

"Oh Barbara," breathes Diana, and she looks sad, which Steve might be more sympathetic to if he wasn't so focused on the woman's pronounced canines and razor sharp claws where fingernails should be. 

The cheetah-woman zeros in on them, and Diana pushes Steve behind her. "I need you to get out of here," she says, low. Retreating is not Steve's go-to move, but he recognizes that he's outgunned, here, and does back away just a little. 

Cheetah attacks first and they trade blows, but she's stronger than she appears and gets the drop on Diana. She sends Diana flying, crashing through a couple of walls and maybe a few floors too, so that she's lost from view. She then wastes no time advancing on Steve, who blocks two swipes with a bit of pipe before he's overpowered. 

Cheetah goes for his guts, literally, clawing up into his lower stomach with her knife-sharp nails and ripping viciously to disembowel him.

And it might work—her claws more than capable of slicing through skin and soft tissue—except that when she pulls back, it's not with a handful of Steve, but with a handful of shredded reinforced ripstop nylon, as an assortment of items clatter to the ground. 

Steve manages to get a blow in, but it's fruitless: she's too strong, and she's got no mercy in her eyes. But then there's a _zing_ and Diana's tiara comes flying out of nowhere, clipping Cheetah hard enough that it forces her to let Steve go, staggering backwards.

She takes one more disoriented swipe at Steve, but he dances back out of the way, her claws making confetti of his jacket and slicing off what's left of the fanny pack, sending the remnants flying as she screams her frustration. 

And then Diana is there, plowing into her with the force of a freight train, knocking her back from Steve, and the two tangle again. 

It's clear that Diana is angry, because she's not pulling punches the way she had been, and even though Cheetah is formidable, in the end, Diana is stronger. Diana's next blow sends her careening out of sight, much like she'd done to Diana, and by the time she follows to investigate, Cheetah's gone, retreated, just as phantom-like as her appearance.

It might be foolish, but her biggest priority now is not trying to follow Barbara, it's Steve. 

"Are you all right?" Diana is on him in an instant, running her hands over his face and then holding him at arm's length just long enough to check for injuries. 

"I'm fine, Diana, I'm okay." 

She embraces him tightly, and it's only then that he sees the angry claw marks down her shoulder and back, oozing blood. 

"Diana, you're hurt!" 

"I am fine. I am more worried about you." 

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I mean, she had me, but your little contraption was durable enough to stop her claws." 

Diana exhales and pulls him into another tight hug, relief coursing through her body. She'd thought, for a moment, that she'd be too late, and the dread it produced was indescribable. She can't lose him again.

She's never been so grateful for an item of clothing. She sends a small prayer of thanks to whatever force kept him safe, and another that he'll make it through whatever is to come. 

* * *

**_+i._ **

The aftermath of the final confrontation with Cheetah and Lord finds them—in another turn of irony—on an absolutely destroyed airstrip, laying about two meters apart on the pulverized tarmac.

Steve slowly pats his body, and then has the audacity to start laughing. "Still in one piece. You did it." 

_"We_ did," says Diana, letting the relief sink in. (It's Steve; it's really Steve, and he's—miraculously—still here.) 

"I mostly just sat here and looked pretty." It elicits a snort from Diana, but before she can reply, Steve groans, putting her back on high alert. But instead: "I may be in one piece, but this tracksuit is a goner." 

"I will get you another. I will get you _twelve,_ if you want," she promises, and reaches out across the broken pavement towards Steve. When the very tips of their fingers touch and lace lightly together, she allows her eyes to flutter shut for a moment, hope coursing through her. 

***

While the majority of the clothes Steve buys are a little sharper and more professional, he does, indeed, get another tracksuit. It's even the same color as the last one. 

Diana couldn't go with him this shopping trip—a last minute conflict with her day job, and he'd been in unavoidable need of new clothes—so she only gets to see everything after the fact, when he unpacks the clothes at home. He even models a few of the outfits for her, including a proper suit (and _oh my,_ does he look excellent; it's a good thing she has the liberty to be distracted, now) and some jeans with a band tee. 

"Hang on," he says, "you've got to see the tracksuit." 

Diana doesn't really understand why, because it looks exactly the same to her, but she indulges him, waits patiently for him to come out of the bathroom. 

The door opens, and suddenly there's Steve, standing before her in the tracksuit that just so happens to be adorned with none other than a psychedelically bright tie-dyed fanny pack.

It's hideous, truly. The pinnacle of fashion monstrosity, garish and chunky and tacky. But somehow, she's never seen anything more wonderful in front of her. It's ever so convenient, then, that the fanny pack provides the perfect purchase with which to reel Steve in closer to her. 

They do have their perks, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [Today's edition of "Weird History Facts with Lenci": ChapStick was invented in the 1880s and became popular in 1912; they started adding flavors in the '70s and sunblock in '81. 
> 
> PS: The amount of material I read about ripstop nylon is frankly embarrassing.]


End file.
